Breaking Limits
by kisskisskill
Summary: Japan never happened, and Ryoma never went to Seigaku. After touring the ATP for four years, he's starting to lose sight of his tennis when he's tricked into a forced vacation that drops him into the middle of a dream that refuses to die.
1. The Show Must Go On

Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Dammit.

Notes: Blame this on the lack of long Echizen-centric fic, and being addicted to _Flower_. I swear it's the driving force in my obsession with Atobe.

I know I should be working on Feed the Fire, but after marathoning the anime, OVAs and manga in a week or less, I wound up diving headfirst into PoT-fandom. Help, I need an intervention.

This is currently unbeta'd, but I've read and reread it so many times, it should be fine. I hope. Let me know if you catch any glaring errors.

Breaking Limits

* * *

Tokyo in mid-July was stifling, and as the sounds of the city enfolded him as he stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal, Ryoma wished, not for the first time, that his father hadn't confiscated his hat. The sun was like a hammer, heat waves shimmering off the tarmac in the distance, and he knew that if it weren't for the sunglasses Kevin had pressed on him, he'd have had an instant migraine from the glare. Settling into the back of a cab, tennis case beside him on the seat and fingers itching for a drink, he found himself wondering, once again, why he'd agreed to this crazy request of his fathers, and why his father had chosen _now_ to spring it on him. He should be training, not half way around the world in _Japan_ of all places.

"Ah... you play tennis?" The cabbie's voice broke him out of his thoughts, and Ryoma glanced up, catching the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror before looking away.

"Yeah."

"I suppose you're pretty good then, huh?" He glanced into the mirror again; the man's eyes were only mildly curious, and he could get away without answering if he wanted to.

"I guess you could say that." The cool glass of the window felt good against his forehead, and Ryoma pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head so they wouldn't get in the way. "How'd you know?" He asked.

The driver smiled, waiting until he'd pulled through a turnpike safely before answering. "Had a few pros in my car before. Only the good ones keep their rackets with them personally."

"I see."

The rest of the drive into the residential area was quiet, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the air conditioning inside the car instead of watching the world go by outside. The sounds of the city faded away as they pulled into quieter neighborhoods, and he made a mental note to look into a way to get around while he was in the country. _One more thing to ask aniki about. _By the time the taxi stopped on a quiet street, the sounds of the city were gone completely. There was no breeze in this part of the city, and the air felt heavy as he stepped out of the taxi and walked around to the driver's side, fishing his wallet out of his pocket so that he could pay. "Thank you." He paused, one hand over the open window of the car, and the driver looked up at him in surprise. "You're a fan of tennis, right?" When the man nodded, Ryoma set his racket case down, and pulled a tennis ball from the side pocket, cursing the voice of his manager for drilling him on _how much does it cost to be nice to fans sometimes, Ryoma?_ "Do you have a marker, or a pen?" Another blank look, then the man grinned and reached into the glove compartment, holding a black marker out to the teenager a few seconds after.

"I knew it! You look too young, but tennis pros always do, I suppose." Ryoma couldn't help smiling at the man's excitement while he scrawled his signature on the ball and wrote his name underneath so the man would know who he'd given a ride to before he tossed it to the driver and shouldered his bag again. He was halfway across the street before he heard the cabbie's startled exclamation, and the smile slipped into a full-blown grin that lasted all the way into the house.

"Nanako-chan, aniki, anyone home?" There was barely time to slip his shoes off and set his rackets down safely before a solid body slammed into him and knocked him to the floor.

"Chibisuke! When did you get in? Why didn't you call? I would've picked you up!"

He glared up at his brother over the rim of his glasses; they'd slipped when Ryoga had tackled him, and sighed. "My flight landed an hour ago, aniki. I had the airport forward my luggage." Ryoma grabbed the man's hand, and let himself be pulled to his feet, slipping his shades back onto his head. "As to why I didn't call... Do you really think I'd let you drive me _anywhere_ after what happened in Arizona?" He called back as he walked into the house proper, stretching to work the kinks out of his shoulders as he walked.

"That wasn't my fault, Chibisuke! How was I supposed to know?" His brother protested as he trailed the boy into the kitchen. "Besides," the brunet grinned, "You were having fun!"

Ryoma stared at his brother in disbelief as he opened the fridge, instinctively pulling out a can of Ponta- his brother knew his habits far, far too well- and cracked it open. "Two twenty Ryoga. Two hundred and twenty kilometres an hour! And you're _surprised_ they suspended your license?"

"Ah, but you're not denying that you had fun!"

He stared at his brother a moment longer, before shaking his head and dropping into one of the chairs at the table, gulping down his drink. "Che, what am I even doing here? Stupid Oyaji!"

"Ryoma, are you having fun?" Ryoga's question, so suddenly serious, caught him flatfooted.

"What?"

"I asked if you were having fun. With tennis, I mean." His brother's brown eyes pinned him down, and the question hung in the air, heavy and awkward, like Ryoga had dropped some kind of earth shaking truth on him. _Are you having fun?_ The more he thought about it, the more important the answer seemed to get. Ryoga was still watching him quietly, waiting, and he looked away, taking a sip of Ponta as he thought. Did he enjoy tennis? He wouldn't play if he didn't enjoy it, right? He glanced at Ryoga again, and scowled. It had been a while since their last match, but he hadn't beaten his brother yet. Hadn't beaten the old man either.

_But..._

"Not lately." He sighed, and saw his brother frown before he continued. "It's too easy. I can't leave the Juniors until I'm eighteen, even though I've already..."

"Beaten everyone." Ryoga finished, meeting Ryoma's eyes. "Echizen Ryoma, four time US Juniors Champion at twelve, and the only person in history to win two calendar Grand Slams. All before age sixteen." He snorted, and the tense atmosphere eased somewhat. "Yeah Chibisuke, I can see why you'd be bored."

Ryoma leaned back in his chair, setting his drink down on the table. "Six years too late to play Monfils, two years too early to play with the big boys..."

Across the table, Ryoga grinned at him. "You realize the old man is doing this so you _won't_ be bored, right?" Ryoma raised a brow, but his brother just grinned even wider. "Think about it, kiddo. Why else would _Samurai Nanjirou_ stop one of his sons from winning their third Junior Grand Slam?" He asked, voice heavy with amusement when Ryoma's eyes widened in horror.

"It's _not_ too late for me to go back. I can still call-" He growled, reaching for the phone in his pocket when his brother's laughter cut him off, sounding more like a dog's bark than real laughter.

"Ryoma, the deadline for accepting your spot was two days ago."

"What!"

"The old man started planning this before Wimbledon, Chibisuke. You've been had, so why not go with it?"

"That's not the point!" Snarled Ryoma, exploding out of his chair so he could pace. "That... that... Augh! It's my _career_! Fucking old man!" His fingernails were cutting into his palms, pinpricks of pain slicing through his anger. "It's not _his_ goddamn career on the line this time, aniki! You don't just _quit_ being a pro!"

His brother watched him quietly. "Oyaji did."

"Oyaji didn't have sponsors or contracts to worry about!" He yelled, throwing his hands up.

"Relax Ryoma! It's been taken care of! Oyaji's a pervert and an embarrassment, but he's not completely useless." Ryoga answered, before pointing at the chair Ryoma had been sitting in. "Sit, and we'll talk about this. He's told me what the conditions of this challenge are, and I want to make sure you know exactly what you've gotten yourself into, Chibisuke."

The teenager complied, dropping into the chair bonelessly and taking a drink from the half empty can of Ponta, sulking. "All the old man told me was he wanted to me to come back here, and keep my head down."

"Really?" When Ryoma nodded in reply, Ryoga groaned, dropping his head into his hand. "Seriously Oyaji? Seriously?" He sighed, and fished his phone out of his pocket, flipping through the menus until he found what he wanted. "Join Seishun Kokou, join the tennis club, find a way to make sure they win Nationals." Looking up, he caught his brother's eyes. "The Japanese circuit is a team thing like the Davis Cup, Chibisuke. If their tennis club sucks, well, it's up to us to whip them into shape, I guess!" He smirked, remembering their father's ridiculous training sessions while Ryoma glared at him silently, waiting for the rest of the conditions to land. "He's forwarded your school scores to Seishun already by the way, so you don't need to worry about studying for entrance exams. They've agreed to accept you based on your grades even though technically you should be attending the middle school due to your age. Shouldn't be any problems, but we can get you a tutor if comes to it."

Ryoma snorted at the idea of having to be tutored. He'd been studying by correspondence since he joined the Grand Slam tour at twelve so he could keep up with his peers, and his grades hadn't been affected. There was no reason for them to be now of all times, especially since he'd be in a proper school setting for the first time in four years. "I'll be fine. What else do I need to do?"

His brother checked the phone, scrolling through the email, humming thoughtfully. "Apparently you've been disowned-" Ryoma choked, interrupting with a strangled, "_What?_" that Ryoga ignored with ease. "Chill, kiddo, I'm joking. He's says here that he's got you down as Meino Ryoma, instead of Echizen." The older boy's eyes were amused. "That's probably what he meant by keep your head down, you know. Didn't you have, you know, stalkers back home?"

"Ah... yeah. A few, why?" He scowled, thinking about the obsessed girls that had followed him _everywhere, _at least until his manager had hit them with a restraining order.

His brother checkled. "If you thought American fangirls were bad, you haven't seen _anything_ yet, Chibisuke. You've got quite a following here in Japan you know; One big enough that you'd never be able to take a piss in privacy if the press found out you were here." He shivered in response, and Ryoga continued with their father's list of conditions. "And since you're trying to stay on the low down, that means no signature moves."

It had to be a joke.

The kitchen was silent, and Ryoma knew he must look stupid with his mouth hanging open in shock while his brother smirked at him, but he couldn't have heard that correctly. No way. No way in hell! _No signature moves?_

"Y-You can't be serious!"

Ryoga's smirk turned predatory, and anxiety shivered down his spine like cold fingers. "What, afraid to play tennis without your fancy toys, Chibisuke? Can't win without the Twist Serve, or those drives you're so proud of?"

"Of course I can!"

"Then what's the problem?"

And that was it- The world froze, crystallized and suddenly there were so many questions that it made Ryoma's mind spin. How long had it been since he'd been forced to use the Cool Drive, had been seen a return ace on his signature serve? Only a few days ago, to be honest, but that had been to the old man, and before that it had been Kevin, almost a month ago, and before that... He frowned, trying to remember. Before Kevin it had been... had been... _Had_ there been anyone? He'd played his father for as long as he could remember, and then it was straight into the Junior Championship, and from there, into the Junior circuit. _Someone_ along the way had to have been able to give him a challenge.

His voice was quiet when he finally answered, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his brother's eyes, staring into the wood grain of the kitchen table instead. "Aniki... it's been a long time, hasn't it? Since I had a challenge."

Royga's reply was just as soft, but it cut through him like a knife. "Ryoma, you haven't lost to anyone but me and Oyaji since you were _twelve_. The only kid I know that can even give you a run for your money is that brat Kevin, and that's because you practically spoonfed him your counters."

His brother was quiet again, but the words hung in the air between them. '… _Since you were __**twelve**__.'_

Four years was a long time to be playing a game if he didn't have fun doing it.

The fifteen year old sighed, wondering if he was insane even as he gave in, and told his brother to let Nanjirou know that he'd agreed to this stupid idea.

Who knew, maybe he'd get some decent tennis out of it.

* * *

Normally I hate A/Ns like this, but I guess I should give a brief outline of the universe differences. After the Junior Championships, Ryoma went straight into the Junior ATP, instead of going to Japan, and Ryoga never left/came back on his own, but refuses to play professionally. Without Ryoma, Seigaku lost in the National quarterfinals against Hyotei, and so the Nationals dream lived on, even after they moved into highschool.

It's now 2 years after the canon timeline, and Ryoma's losing sight of his love of tennis. Yay drama!


	2. Another One Bites The Dust

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never was.

**Notes:** I actually had a very good reason for the whole skipping a grade thing, which has to do with the difference in cut off dates. I'd give an example, but after researching to make sure I wasn't spouting off bullshit, I've completely confused myself, so I won't bother. Suffice to say, my own birthday is shortly before Ryoma's, everyone in school always seemed older than me, it's a plot device, and I have no idea how different 10th grade in the US and first year senior high in japan is.

I was going to hold off on posting this, because apparently my muse decided to take a nosedive into melodrama four and a half scenes into this, and now I have to rewrite about 1000-1500 words unless I can come up with a good way to cover up the blatant OOCness that I seem to have written. Speaking of OOC, I realize that Ryoma being this verbose/showing this much emotion is OOC compared to canon, but you have to remember that Ryoma has living in Western society for four years longer than canon.

Again, this is unbeta'd. I think I only caught two errors after posting chapter 1, so this should be okay. Read and review please, especially if there's something wrong.

* * *

Three days later saw Ryoma standing in front of the bathroom mirror, tugging awkwardly at the black uniform that seemed too tight in all the worst places while trying to tame his now-short hair, and wondered again, if he'd gone insane. The uniform, a three piece blazer, shirt and pants affair in black and red plus tie, made him look more like he was going to one of those ridiculous press conferences his manager delighted in forcing on him, rather than to school. He sighed. A week ago he'd had a comfortable monotony that thousands would've killed for- practice, studies, tournaments- and now he was halfway around the world and looking at the exact same thing, only so much more difficult.

After their initial discussion, he and his brother had been too busy getting him moved in and settled to think about the odd challenge their father had set, but they'd finally sat down the night before to finalize things.

No Twist Serve, no drives, and definitely, certainly, not the Cool Drive. That had left him with Split Step and Nitouryuu, two things that were so ingrained in him that he just couldn't _not_ use them, though his brother had dared him to see how long he could go before someone caught onto the fact that he was a southpaw, and not right handed. He'd snorted; There hadn't been a single player in the Junior circuit that he'd needed to use his left hand against, so what made his brother think some high school kid would be able to do it now? Ryoga was hiding things, he knew, but he hadn't bothered pressing him for details.

"Ryoma-kun! Hurry up, you're going to be late!" Nanako's voice floated up the stairs to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Grabbing his sunglasses off his desk- without his hat, he needed someway to keep his hair out of his eyes, and no, he wasn't going to think about what Kevin would say about him stealing his style- he dashed downstairs, declining breakfast and accepting the bento that his cousin pressed into his hands before he was out the door, schoolbag on one shoulder and racket case on the other. The school wasn't far, but by the time he got there the courtyard was flooded with students, forcing him to push his way through the crowd. If he'd been in less of a hurry, he probably would have been caught offguard by the amount of attention he was attracting, but there was twenty minutes until classes started and he was determined to finish registering and arrive in class on time.

The reception office was busy when he arrived, and the secretary had just smiled at him when he gave his name, handing over his class assignment as well as an information pamphlet about the school, leaving him with ten minutes to wander around the school in search of his homeroom until one of the students, a second year with a neat black hair and green eyes, took pity on him and led the way before running off to their own class. He'd had barely enough time to introduce himself to his homeroom teacher and find a seat before the final bell rang and the class was called to order.

"Class, if I can have your attention please? Today we will be having a transfer student joining us. Meino-kun has been living in America for the last few years, so I hope you will all treat him well. Meino-kun, if you wouldn't mind introducing yourself?"

Inwardly, Ryoma groaned, but he made his way to the front of the room anyways, trying to ignore the fact that his classmates were all staring at him. "My name is Meino Ryoma. I'm fifteen years old, my birthday is December 24th, and I like cats and tennis. Please treat me well." He hated school introductions, hated how trite they always sounded, and the fact that he'd been spared having to make any for the last 4 years was something he wouldn't take for granted again, he reflected, as the class broke out in excited murmurs while he headed back to his seat.

"_Fifteen?"_

"_Shouldn't he still be in middle school?"_

"_Guess he's another geek."_

"Hey, are you any good?" That caught his attention, and he caught himself turning to stare at the boy sitting to his right. He was tall, with short dark hair and dark eyes that shone with curiosity, even as he smirked at Ryoma arrogantly, waiting for an answer.

"What?" God, could he sound any stupider?

"Are you any good? At tennis, I mean. You said you liked it." The cocky smirk was threatening to turn into a grin as the boy watched Ryoma squirm, and the fifteen year old glared back.

"Depends on what you call good." He eyed the teenager, taking note of well muscled wrists and the long, lean body. "Could probably beat you." He shot back, levelling his own cocky smirk at the brunet.

"Oh ho! Shrimp's got guts!" The moment broke, and the bigger boy grinned at him, holding his hand out for Ryoma to shake. "Momoshiro Takeshi, but just Momo is fine. Nice to meet you, Meino."

"Ah... Domo."

"Probably doesn't need to be said, but you should join the tennis club. If you have the skills to back up that attitude, we could use someone like you."

He arched a brow in question, absentmindedly noting what their teacher was lecturing on. "We?"

"Ah.. I should've said it. I'm one of the regulars. Wasn't sure I would be, since I'm a first year, but Iwasaki-buchou fast tracked everyone from the old Nationals team I guess. Best decision I've seen him make, considering Buchou can beat him in straight matches with his eyes closed." Momoshiro bragged.

"Heh? Interesting." He murmured, idly wondering how good his classmate was, if he was considered at the National level. The conversation dropped off after that, both of them turning their attention back to the lecture before the teacher could call them out on chatting.

By the time they broke for lunch, Ryoma had a headache throbbing behind his eyes, tired from mentally translating the lecture from spoken Japanese into written English so that he could keep notes he'd understand later, and he couldn't help groaning when Momoshiro dragged him along to the noisy cafeteria instead of letting him eat in the classrom. They'd been standing in line for a few minutes when something flashed past him, throwing itself at Momoshiro with a speed that left Ryoma blinking.

"Momo-chan!"

"Ah! Kikumaru-sempai, get off! I can't breath!" Now that it was clinging rather tightly to Momoshiro, Ryoma was able to figure out that the blur had actually been a redheaded boy about a year older than him. There were several other boys trailing behind him, and belatedly, he realized that they must be Momoshiro's teammates.

"Mou, Momo-chan, buy me something, kay? I'll treat you to burgers tomorrow!"

"Haha, sure! What do you want?" The redhead had let go of his classmate by then, and his sly grin reminded Ryoma rather forcefully of his father and brother.

"Hmmm... Yakisoba-pan, melonpan and a choco milk!"

"Maa, Eiji, maybe you should take it easy on Momo..." Ryoma recognized the newcomer as the boy that had shown him around that morning.

Momoshiro grinned, scratching the his head. "Nah, it's fine Oishi-sempai. He'll be paying me back tomorrow anyways. Meino, did you want to order anything?"

Ryoma shook his head, holding up the bento in his hand. "I brought lunch, Momo."

"Homemade? Lucky! Ah! Sorry, I should introduce you, shouldn't I?" He grinned. "Meino, this is Kikumaru-sempai, and his double's partner, Oishi-sempai," both boys waved in turn, "Inui-sempai, Taka-san, and Fuji-sempai. We made up most of the tennis team back when we were in middle school."

Ryoma nodded, bowing briefly to them. "Meino Ryoma. Nice to meet you all."

"Nice to meet you too, Meino-kun." The one that Momoshiro had introduced as Fuji replied. The others echoed him, smiling reassuringly.

"Ehh? Momo-chan has a new friend? Why didn't you tell me!" Eiji demanded, looking at the taller boy accusingly. Noticing that they'd reached the head of the line up, Ryoma answered for him.

"Because I just transferred in today, Kikumaru-sempai."

"Really? Awesome! What prefecture did you come from? Why'd you move? Do you like Seigaku?"

The fifteen year old blinked, caught flatfooted by the deluge of questions, which, if the quiet laughter from Fuji was any sign, was a fairly common occurrence. "Uhm, I'm from America, sempai. I haven't been here long enough to know if I'll like it yet."

The redhead's eyes widened in surprise, before that grin was back, full force. "Ooh, really? But your Japanese is so good!"

Ryoma laughed. "My parents are Japanese, Kikumaru-sempai. We spoke Japanese at home." By this time, his classmate had finished ordering, and after Momoshiro and Kikimaru had hashed out who's food was who's, Ryoma found himself being drawn along with the rest of the tennis team to the courts, where there was enough shaded grass for them to eat in relative comfort.

Ryoma was quiet while they ate, and he found himself staring up at the sky, half listening to Momoshiro and Eiji bicker as he wondered what he'd have been up to if he'd been back home and how his best friend was handling the fact that Nanjirou had packed him off to Japan with barely any notice. A moment later, he smiled to himself. Kevin would be fine, and with the time differences, he'd have been fast asleep right now, if he'd been back home.

"Something funny, Meino-kun?" The quiet voice beside him startled him, and he glanced over, recognizing the smiling face as Fuji.

"Ah, just thinking about what I'd be doing right now if I was back home."

"And?"

"I'd be asleep. It's two in the morning there."

Fuji laughed. "True. Why did you move to Japan, Meino-kun?"

Ryoma bit his lip, eying the junior out of the corner of his eye, and noticed that the tallest boy- Inui, he thought- was listening in, despite the fact that he seemed to be busy working on some kind of homework assignment. "Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Oh?"

He nodded, and sighed. "It was my father's decision. One day he just said 'pack up, you're going to go live with your brother', and that was that." It was quiet now that Momo and Kikumaru's argument had ended, and he picked at the remains of his bento, remembering.

"Just like that? Were you having problems at school or something?" The smile on the older boy's face had faded, and Ryoma found himself pinned down by an intensely blue stare that made him shiver. There was something ominous in the boy's eyes, though he didn't think it was aimed at him.

"I didn't go to school." He answered without thinking, then froze, cursing inwardly. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"Homeschooled?"

"Something like that, yeah. We moved around a lot." Fuji stared at him a moment more, and he held his breath, hoping the older boy would accept it. It was the truth after all, he hadn't even been in the U.S. For more than a few months at a time in years. If Fuji understood it as moving because of his parent's work, then that was his fault.

Then, like nothing had happened, that unnatural smile was back, full force. "I bet you've been to some very interesting places then, Meino-kun."

Ryoma smirked, thinking about all the cities he'd lived in in the past four years. "You have no idea, Fuji-sempai."

Lunch break was over all too soon after that, and Ryoma followed Momoshiro back to class with an absent smile on his face. The rest of the day went by calmly, and without noticing, he dozed off towards the end of the afternoon, lulled to sleep by the drone of their English teacher. Momoshiro shook him awake after classes had ended, joking about what a slacker he was and Ryoma rolled his eyes at the older boy as he stretched.

"You have tennis practice today, right?" He asked, heading towards the supply cupboard at the back of the class.

"Uh, yeah." Came the confused reply, and Ryoma chuckled as he pulled his racket case from the cupboard where the homeroom teacher had let him store it, and shouldered it.

"Good, then you can introduce me to the coach and help me sign up."


	3. Flash

Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wouldn't mind owning Ore-sama~

Notes: Next chapter is either completely written, or half-written. I can't decide if I want to end the scene where it is or not.

Merry Christmas everyone, or whatever other holiday you celebrate. Hope it's a good one!

PS: Still unbeta'd, so let me know if you catch any errors- reviews in general are love!

* * *

The courts were filling up when they arrived, and there was a third year with long hair in a pony-tail directing the club through their drills, while a second year with glasses stood next to him, watching intently. Ryoma had to admit, stopping for a second to watch the assembled members go through their paces, that the club's level of organization was impressive.

"Iwasaki-buchou, Tezuka-buchou!" Momoshiro called, approaching the pair, who turned to greet him. The third year seemed friendly enough, but the one with glasses was stern; Ryoma couldn't get a grasp on what he was thinking at all, which was irritating.

"Momoshiro. You need something?" The third year asked as they drew up in front of them.

"Yeah, this guy just transferred in, and he wants to join." He gestured at Ryoma, who stepped forward to introduce himself.

"I'm Meino Ryoma. I just moved here from the U.S."

Iwasaki eyed him curiously for a second, noting how comfortably he held the tennis bag on his shoulder, then shrugged. "You any good?"

Ryoma smiled, crossing his fingers behind his back against the small lie he was about to tell. "Won a few tournaments back home. Don't know how I'll match up here though. There's not much emphasis on tennis in America."

The older boy paused, sizing him up again before looking at the second year beside him. "Up for a game, Tezuka?"

At Momo's delighted laugh, and the stoic boy's calm acceptance, Ryoma remembered belatedly that Momoshiro had mentioned that this was captain of a nationally ranked middle school team, and was captain of the current team in all but name now. His heart sped up in anticipation, and the strap of his bag shifted in his hand as his grip tightened. His brother had been so sure that he wouldn't be disappointed by coming here. It was time he found out for himself.

He changed quickly, taking the offered use of the clubhouse to do so, and headed back out to warm up, jogging a few easy laps around one of the courts and pushing into his stretches while they waited for one of the drills to finish up. The regulars- Ryoma easily recognized the entire group that he'd eaten lunch with, as well as an additional member wearing a bandana- were practicing zone defense while a man in a lab coat that could only be the coach officiated. He was halfway through his stretches when Tezuka and Iwasaki came over to join him, the third year walking past him to speak with the coach while Tezuka waited.

Ryoma took the chance to observe the boy beside him, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he leaned forward again, feeling his calves burn. The brunet was standing beside him calmly, racket held comfortably in his left hand, and Ryoma's eyes narrowed. His father and brother were both right handed. Kevin wasn't, but then again, it was only a challenge to beat Kevin because his friend could shut down all of his attacks with ease, being nearly as familiar with them as Ryoma was himself. If Tezuka was as good as Momo had alluded, this was already shaping up to be a great match, practice or not.

Seeing the practice drill wrapping up, Ryoma got to his feet, taking a few test swings with his racket. "Tezuka-buchou, how far do you intend to take this?" He asked casually.

Tezuka's glanced at him, eyes sharp. Ryoma knew what he'd see, what anyone that played him saw; He'd always been small for his age, and puberty hadn't done him any favors. When all of his friends were growing like weeds, it seemed like he'd missed the wagon. He was at least four inches shorter than most fifteen year olds, and at seventeen, Tezuka was half a foot taller, if not more, and correspondingly heavier. Learning to deal with players that took advantage of his size, however, had made him stronger- If he couldn't reach the ball with height, he'd had to learn to reach it with speed.

The court was finally clear, and they diced for who would serve first, with Tezuka winning. The first serve was probing, and far slower than what he was used to. Ryoma sent it slamming back over the net easily at twice the speed it had been served with in irritation, and saw Tezuka's eyes narrow.

"15 – love." And the game was on.

The next serve was fast, better than what he'd come to expect from his competitors in the circuit, but still slower than his father on the days when he wanted to cut Ryoma down to size. He returned it with ease, and it turned into a short rally until Ryoma tucked the next point away with a neat lob that the teenager didn't quite reach in time. He took the next two points as well, and heard the exclamations coming from around the court. Tezuka's eyes weren't at all dismissive anymore, and Ryoma grinned to himself as he moved back to the baseline to get into position to serve.

"_Love game?"_

"_It's just a practice match. Buchou's just feeling him out."_

He blocked out the whispers as he tossed the ball into the air, setting up for a perfect Twist- And pulled the serve last minute, eyes wide. "Fault!"

Ryoma stared at the ball as it slowly rolled to a stop next to the net. It was only the first _day_ and he'd nearly lost the challenge already. He shook his head, setting up for another serve, hitting a fast, flat shot that was returned easily, dragging his attention back into the game. The match was heating up fast as Tezuka upped the ante, trying to test the limits of Ryoma's ability, and Ryoma matching him shot for shot, repaying his losses in kind whenever the teen managed to get one past him. He took the second game as well, feinting a slam into a drop shot at deuce, and the whispers got louder.

It was back to Tezuka's serve, and as the ball rocketed towards and then past him at speeds he'd only seen from people directly related to his family, Ryoma couldn't help but grin. The real game was finally starting. The next point went to Tezuka too, with a top spin volley that kept it from reaching where Ryoma thought it would. He lost the next rally too, and something tightened painfully in his chest as he thought of how easily he could've returned it with Drive B. It wasn't until he'd lost that game, and the next, and they were 40-0 into Tezuka's third service when he finally caught on to the faint circle of dust around the captain's feet. His eyes narrowed, and abruptly his entire world condensed into this one court.

"Heh..." Ryoma couldn't keep the predatory grin off his face as he began to bounce in place, waiting for the next serve. "Neh, Bouchou!" He called. "Don't you think it's time we stopped messing around?" The serve came moments after that amongst an uproar of speculation, and Ryoma raced to the net to meet it with a violent slam. As he'd expected, it gravitated back to the second year waiting at the baseline, and his interest grew. They rallied back and forth a few times with easy shots, letting the ball gain velocity before Tezuka aimed it into the far side of the court, obviously intending to catch him off guard. A heartbeat, then Ryoma pushed off with his left foot, catching up for an easy return.

"_Split step!"_

"_But there's something weird about it..."_

"_It's just like Rikkai..."_

"_No doubt, he's at least at Kirihara's level."_

The rally continued, and Ryoma scowled, knowing that he was falling directly into Tezuka's trap as the balls came faster and faster, pushing him to use the split step for each return in hopes of making him grow tired. Annoyed, he conceded the point to Tezuka, setting the score to 3-2 in Tezuka's favor. Seeing his serve, as well as the first return, fall victim to the other boy's defense only made Ryoma angrier, and on the next ball he pulled his shot, watching critically as it hit the net then dropped neatly onto Tezuka's side of the court, rolling briefly before stopping. It was the only trick that had ever managed to foul up his father's defense, and he hated the idea that a _high schooler_ was able to pull off something that he'd all but given up on learning. The zone had been a bone of contention between he and Nanjirou for years.

"_...Tezuka Zone..."_

"_Gotta be a fluke!"_

"_...Only seen it fail against Sanada and Atobe before..."_

"_Who **is** this guy, Momo?"_

Standing in position to serve and listening to the excited whispers behind him, Ryoma met Tezuka's eyes across the court, and grit his teeth in irritation when there was nothing,_ nothing_, reflected back at him. "You know, I didn't want to let anyone know about this so soon. My brother's never going to let me live this down." He sighed. "But you're better than I expected," _Were they **really** booing him for that?_ "So it's not that bad, I guess." He switched hands, and the crowd went quiet as the second serve screamed past Tezuka's guard, followed by the third. The older teen caught the fourth one, but had no time to set up his defense when Ryoma lobbed it back over the net.

"3 – all!"

It was Tezuka's serve after that, and Ryoma let himself be drawn into short rally before he pulled himself up short, setting up another weak volley that barely made it over the net and proved that no, his point against the zone defense hadn't been a fluke. Their spectators were absolutely silent now, and Ryoma absently wondered if he'd shown off too much as he moved into position to receive the next serve.

"Enough!" It was the coach, Iwasaki following behind him as they walked onto the court, heading towards Tezuka. Ryoma paused, then straightened with a sigh, feeling disappointed. It had been just about to get good too. He shook his head, and was in the process of stowing his racket away safely when he realized there was someone standing behind him, and turned to meet the curious eyes of their coach.

"Meino, come with me, bring your things. Everyone else, twenty five laps, then go home!"

Ryoma followed quietly, acutely aware of Tezuka's burning gaze on the back of his head as they left the court and cursed silently. Yes, he'd definitely shown off too much. The walk continued in silence until the pair reached the health room and the coach ushered him inside, closing the door behind them before taking a seat. Trapped, Ryoma couldn't help fidgeting as the coach took his chance to size him up with impunity. "First of all, welcome to the regulars, Meino-kun. It took quite a bit of convincing to get Tezuka-kun to give in."

After a moment, Ryoma nodded, not feeling too surprised. From the sounds of it, he'd been on the verge of driving their ace into a corner as badly as any of their opponents ever had. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

The man nodded, smiling slightly. "I'm sure you will. Now, the next question is" he leaned forward, bracing himself with his arms on his knees. "How much were you holding back?"

Ryoma stilled, eying the man warily. Would it be failing the challenge if his coach knew? Thinking quickly, he decided to wait and see what his brother thought. "I'm not really sure." He hedged. "I haven't played seriously in a long time." It was partly true, but his father had always demanded his very best, and Ryoma knew exactly where he stood in terms of ability after playing against him virtually every day.

The man continued to stare at him levelly, and he sighed, defeated. "Fine, but... I need to ask permission to tell you, and it has to stay with you. Can I have a second?"

The coach nodded, and Ryoma fished his cellphone out of his bag, stepping around one of the dividing curtains for some semblance of privacy while he waited for Ryoga to pick up.

"_What's up, Chibisuke?" _His brother's voice was disinterested, and Ryoma groaned, praying his brother wouldn't be difficult about this, like he had a tendency to be.

"I need your permission for something."

"_It's only been a day, Ryoma, what could you possibly need permission for?"_

"Look..." He lowered his voice, even though he knew it was useless since the coach would still be able to hear everything, including if his brother said no. "I had to try out, Ryoga, and he was better than I expected."

"_And now they want to know how good you really are."_

"Basically."

His brother sighed, and Ryoma knew he'd be shaking his head at Ryoma's circumstances. _"Only you could get in trouble on the first day, kid."_

"Aniki... I'm sorry."

The line was quiet, and after a moment's worry that maybe his brother had given his answer by hanging up, he heard him sigh again. _"Yeah, go ahead kiddo. I'll explain it to Oyaji. Be more careful next time."_

"Yeah, I know. Thanks aniki." He hung up, and closed the phone, slipping it into his pocket as he stepped back around the curtain.

"Well?" The man asked, and Ryoma took a deep breath to center himself.

"Echizen Ryoma, at your service."


	4. I Want To Break Free

Disclaimer: Don't own it, wouldn't mind if I was given Atobe though.

Short update because I've been busy with various other projects (my KHR and ES21 fic, working for a scan group, LJ icon challenges.), and I feel bad that I haven't updated, especially with all the alerts I'm getting on this.

The pace should pick up after this, I hope. I'm still debating a fairly major plot point with myself, but I think I've all but made up my mind. Not sure when the next update will be; Probably in February, provided my muse holds out.

Useless OC trivia: Iwasaki-buchou is named for Iwasaki Taro, composer of the Gurren Lagann OST, and Tajima-sensei is named after Tajima Yuuichirou from Oofuri.

* * *

The tennis regulars cornered him at lunch the next day, and despite his protests, managed to drag him off to the roof for the interrogation.

There had been a brief introduction- Momo took the chance to point out the boy with bandana he'd seen yesterday as Kaidou Kaoru, another freshman, while Fuji made sure Tezuka formally introduced himself, before they sat down in a rough circle, with the majority of them keeping themselves between Ryoma and the doorway back into the school.

"Kidnapping isn't nice, sempai-tachi." Ryoma muttered between mouthfuls of rice, glaring across the group at Momoshiro, who smiled back at him apologetically.

"Sorry Meino. We're just curious, y'know?"

"Yeah, Ochibi!" Kikumaru crowed, leaning around Fuji to grin at the fifteen year old, who stiffened at the nickname. "What was that yesterday?"

"Tennis." He knew he was being childish by sulking like this, but considering the circumstances, Ryoma couldn't make himself care. Did they really have to gang up on him?

"Ahh, Meino-kun, I believe I speak for all of us when I say that was _not_ ordinary tennis." Oishi murmured, attempting to pacify him. Ryoma rolled his eyes, already knowing what the junior was going to ask, and wishing the boy would man up and just ask. "We just want to know where you learned to play tennis like that."

"America."

"Were you coached, then?" It seemed like the others were willing to let Oishi handle the line of questioning for now.

Ryoma snorted. Formal coaching indeed. All he'd ever had was a tennis obsessed father and older brother, and that's all he'd ever needed. The fact that his father had been a world class player was something they didn't need to know. "Not that I know of."

"What!" It was Momo that yelled, but he found himself glancing at Fuji- who'd claimed a spot to his right when they had sat down- before looking over at Tezuka, sitting opposite from him. They were both staring at him, coolly calculating, and the ever present smile was missing from Fuji's face.

"I played tennis with my family. Dad made me enter a few tournaments, and I won." He shrugged. It _was_ how he'd gotten into competitive tennis, after all. "I didn't think it was that big a deal, really." _Liar. _"Tezuka-buchou probably would have beaten me in the end. He was holding back." _And so were you. _Across the circle, Tezuka's eyes were faintly challenging, and he had to fight back the frown. _You haven't seen anything yet. _

"Indeed. Tezuka was only using roughly forty percent of his capability yesterday." Inui, seated to his left, chipped in as he flipped through a well worn notebook. "There was a ninety five percent chance of him winning the match yesterday, if Tajima-sensei hadn't stepped in." He paused as Ryoma looked over at him indignantly, and the freshman noted that the book was filled with data and calculations on tennis strategy; obviously Tezuka's. "Of course, if he had used _Muga no Kyochi_, then it would have increased to one hundred percent."

Ryoma froze, chopsticks forgotten halfway to his mouth. "_M-Muga no Kyochi_..."

"Saa, you know of it?" Fuji's voice was light, but Ryoma could hear the wariness in it, and laughed weakly.

"That's just a myth, right? Surpassing your limits and all that... it doesn't really happen." He mumbled, trying to make sense out of what they were trying to tell him. _Tezuka can use Muga no Kyochi. __**Tezuka**__ can use Muga no Kyochi._

"Aa. It's real, Meino-kun. Tezuka's not the only one we know of, either." Oishi answered.

"Yeah, but Buchou is the best at it, Oishi! He can use the _Hyaku Ren Jitoku_ and _Saiki Kanpatsu_ too!" Eiji chimed.

Ryoma's eyes flew up, locking with the captain's even as his mind ground to a halt in shock. _Two of the doors, and no one knows who he is? "_You're so close to _Ten'i Muho_ then..." He whispered. The jealousy gnawing at his chest was getting worse, and Ryoma desperately wanted to get out of there before he said something he'd regret, but Fuji seemed to reading his mind. When he'd started packing up the remains of his lunch, the second year had grabbed the hem of his shirt. He couldn't get up unless he wanted to ruin his uniform and he didn't think the junior would be letting go any time soon either.

"You okay, Meino? You look like you just saw a ghost." Momo asked, speaking up for the first time since the interrogation had started.

The freshman waved him off, glaring at Fuji out of the corner of his eye. "Why aren't you a pro already, Tezuka-buchou? You're definitely strong enough." He laughed again but the sound wasn't coming out right. "You were probably strong enough years ago." _Where have you been, all this time?_

Tezuka met his gaze steadily. "Not yet. Five years ago, we promised to win Nationals, and I won't leave the team behind until we do." The junior's brown eyes were questioning, daring Ryoma to step up the the challenge.

Ryoma met his gaze levelly for a moment, feeling his tension draining away under those eyes, before he nodded in acceptance, a small smirk on his face. "Then I guess I should apologize for holding you up, buchou." Six pairs of eyes looked at him questioningly, but by then the warning bell marking the end of lunch was ringing, and Ryoma took off before anyone else could pin him down.


End file.
